Instincts
by BrandSpankingNew
Summary: Sandy thinks his instincts are good. But has he made a mistake this time? Sequel to "The Power of Sandy". Warning: This is a BrandSpankingNew fic. Contains spanking and/or talk of spanking.


It was a bright night, with a nearly full moon. The air was cool, but not cold. Sandy sat in the whirlpool, thinking. Thinking about the night he'd punished Seth and talked with Ryan, and how the teenagers were so different.

He thought about Ryan's reaction to him that night. The kid had been scared, no doubt about it. Scared, but of what? Of him? Or of his actions? And the way Ryan had just dropped over his lap, and said, "Get it over with," with gritted teeth, made Sandy pause.

He was a brave kid. Never in a million years would Seth do what Ryan had done: suck it up and take what he thought he had coming. Then again, Sandy mused, Seth would rarely think he ever _had_ anything coming.

But maybe Kirsten was right. Maybe Ryan didn't see that Sandy wouldn't hurt him, didn't take any pleasure in causing him pain. Maybe to Ryan, being spanked didn't seem any different than any of the abuses any number of his mother's live-in boyfriends had heaped on him.

Sandy hadn't thought anything through before he'd spanked Ryan. After Ryan had pushed him, Sandy had lost his temper, and when Ryan had been yelling those things about not belonging with them, not being part of their family, well, Sandy probably should have thought before he just reacted. Because sometimes, instinctive reactions could be very wrong.

And he was pretty sure they had been.

The way Ryan had looked at him that night made Sandy's gut twist. He'd pulled the kid up off his knees so he could look at him, could see what was going on in his head—and he didn't like what he'd seen.

Suddenly, the teen he knew and loved looked more like a frightened little boy than the brave young man he was. With his arms wrapped around his body, he'd forced himself to meet Sandy's gaze. And Sandy could see something akin to terror lurking in those deep blue eyes.

He'd wanted to reassure him, and he'd also wanted to make his point. In the end, he thought he'd done both. But what if Ryan was still afraid of him? After all Ryan had gone through, after all the family had gone through with him, the last thing Sandy wanted was for Ryan to be afraid. They were supposed to be his safe place.

He sighed. He needed to talk with the kid.

Sandy stood, and went back into the house to take a quick shower. After that, he would talk to Ryan.

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Ryan lay on his back on his bed with his hands clasped behind his head. He stared at the speckled ceiling of the pool house. He was thinking.

Seth had made a good point. Ryan was a lot stronger than him...so why had he let Sandy spank him?

Okay, so maybe he hadn't really _let_ him. He was pretty sure that Sandy had gotten him down fair and square when he'd hauled him back from the construction site to the Cohen house. Because Ryan had really been nervous, he'd struggled _hard_, and Sandy had won.

But if Ryan had been in full form, swinging with all his might before Sandy had gotten him into the extremely disadvantaged position of being over his lap, well. Things might have been different.

And then there was the night when Lindsay had been over, when Sandy had come out and talked to him. Ryan felt himself start to turn red just thinking about it.

What had he been thinking? How humiliating, that he had just fallen over Sandy's lap like that. He could have at least fought it. He wondered what Sandy thought of him now. Probably that he was a giant wuss. Minty, as Seth would put it. Great.

Ryan had been so sure that Sandy was going to spank him. He'd been absolutely certain. And he'd felt like, well, not that he deserved to be punished exactly, but that he didn't _not_ deserve it; he'd ruined Sandy and Kirsten's anniversary. It made sense to him that Sandy would want to punish him. It didn't seem like it would do any good to protest or fight it. He'd done something stupid. Of course he was going to catch hell for it.

But he hadn't. Sandy had pulled him up and talked to him. And even though Ryan had been absolutely terrified for a minute or two when old memories had mingled with the present, there hadn't been a reason for his fear. Nothing had happened.

He remembered when he'd first come to the Cohen's house. He'd been nervous a lot, nervous of every raised voice and tense moment, nervous every time Sandy would raise his hand to clasp Ryan's shoulder. Eventually, he'd learned that in the Cohen house, raised voices didn't equal violence and tense moments didn't mean he was going to land on his butt in the street. And he'd learned that Sandy didn't strike people out of nowhere, unless you considered a swat to Seth's head with a rolled up newspaper a strike. Ryan didn't.

But he'd left. Ran away, really. He hadn't felt like he belonged. And Sandy had found him and brought him back.

He'd been scared when Sandy had smashed him up against the door, grabbing his arms and bodily hauling him into the den. He understood that. It was violent, and he'd known what was coming: Sandy was going to beat the crap out of him.

Except that hadn't happened. When Sandy had wrestled him down across his lap and Ryan had realized his intentions, the shock had made him stop, for just a moment as his brain struggled to comprehend what was happening. It had hurt, more than Ryan would have believed Sandy could inflict with his bare, flat hand. But Ryan hadn't been so afraid, just ashamed and in pain. And really, the shame had been much worse than the physical pain.

When AJ and other boyfriends of Dawn had beaten him up, he'd always been afraid. He'd tried so hard not to be, and he'd tried even harder not to show his fear, but it had always been there. He'd walk into the house and feel what was coming, the tension and anger lurking in the corners of the dirty house. He'd known that AJ couldn't care less if he injured Ryan, that a broken wrist or rib, a black eye or split lip was seen as a way of insuring that Ryan 'got the message'.

Sandy was different. The Cohens were different. It hit Ryan like a bucket of cold water. He trusted them. Against every instinct he'd been raised to hold, he really believed that Sandy wouldn't hurt him, that the Cohens wouldn't hurt him. That they, dare he say it, loved him.

He allowed himself a small half-smile, more of a quirk of his lips than anything. Yeah, Seth would call him minty if he heard all these thoughts.

Kind of like any other brother on the planet.

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Sandy knocked on the pool house door. "Ryan?" he called softly. There was a light on inside, but Sandy couldn't see the teen's shadow anywhere. Was the kid asleep already?

"It's open," Ryan called. Nope, not asleep. Sandy opened the door.

"Can I come in?" he asked. Ryan was sitting on his bed, leaning back on his arms. The teen gave a sparse nod, and Sandy walked inside and shut the door. He took a seat in his usual chair.

He looked at the teenager, who wasn't quite meeting his eyes. Sandy usually didn't trust people who wouldn't meet his eyes, but with Ryan, it was different.

"Look at me, kid," he said.

Ryan's eyes barely brushed his for a moment. "Am I in trouble?" he asked, looking at Sandy's eyebrows.

Sandy raised those eyebrows. "Not that I'm aware of. Should you be?"

Ryan gave a little snort that Sandy knew was something like a laugh, shaking his head. Always taciturn, this kid.

"I didn't think so," Sandy said. "Nah, I just wanted to talk."

Again, Ryan's eyes flitted up to his. Sandy smiled. Just because he wanted to talk didn't mean Ryan would start the conversation for him. He wasn't Seth, after all.

"I was in the pool tonight, and I got to thinking about something Kirsten said," Sandy started. He saw Ryan tense minutely. "Nothing bad," he reassured the kid. "But that night you and Seth were getting up to...shenanigans, Kirsten and I had a conversation about you boys."

He saw Ryan's cheeks pink ever-so-slightly. He pretended not to notice.

"She told me that I couldn't spank you, that you wouldn't understand that I wasn't going to hurt you and you'd be scared."

Ryan's face reddened even more, but Sandy plowed on.

"I didn't tell her that I _had_ spanked you, if that's what you're embarrassed about. But she made me realize that I need to talk to you about this."

Ryan ducked his head. "S'nothing to talk about," he mumbled.

Sandy gave him a look he was sure the kid could feel, even if he wasn't looking. "Nothing to talk about? Kid, I know that I scared you that night. No, more than scared you. You looked like you might pass out on me."

"I was fine," Ryan said. "I'm not fragile." He spoke to the floor.

"I'm not saying you're fragile, Ryan. But that night, I scared the hell out of you, and I didn't mean to."

"You didn't," Ryan protested again, grasping his hands together. "I was fine."

"Baloney," Sandy said. "When I pulled you up, you looked like a whipped puppy."

Ryan's head jerked up at that, surprise registering on his face. A moment later, that surprise turned into a blank face. He didn't say anything.

"You know that I don't want to have to punish you, either of you. Right?" Sandy asked.

Ryan nodded, his face dropping back down. Sandy sighed. "Look at me, Ryan, please," he said.

Ryan's eyes rose, but his face stayed down. Sandy resisted the urge to reach out and put his fingers under the teen's chin.

"Do you really understand that, Ryan? That I don't like to punish either of you, in any way, but especially not physically? You're my sons. I love you both."

Ryan's eyes dropped again. Sandy sighed, and almost missed Ryan's reply. "I know," he whispered. Sandy barely caught it.

The reply surprised him. He stopped himself before a surprised, "You do?" popped out of his mouth, and settled for a, "Good.

"I shouldn't have spanked you," Sandy said. "I think I owe you an apology."

Now Ryan's whole head came up. "No," he said with a shake. "No apology."

Sandy raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

Ryan didn't respond. Sandy pressed. "Talk to me kid."

"I wouldn't have stayed." Ryan's voice was so quiet Sandy had to strain to hear it. "I...I thought I'd tell you why I'd left, and you'd agree with me, and then I'd leave. And instead, you..." Ryan blinked a couple of times. "You didn't agree with me. Even when I pushed you. And even then, you didn't hit me or throw me out." There was a note of something. Disbelief, maybe, or wonder. "But I'd been planning on leaving."

"You didn't," Sandy noted.

Ryan shook his head. One corner of his lips turned up wryly. "I knew you'd come and get me," he said. "And I knew you'd..." He trailed off and dropped his head again. Sandy could see his ears reddening.

Wonders never ceased, Sandy thought. This kid, this sixteen year old kid who often acted like he was thirty, was embarrassed.

"You were scared of me?" Sandy asked, wanting to make sure.

"No," Ryan said. "Not scared of you."

Sandy waited.

"I'd never felt like I'd deserved it before. You know? Like when AJ would get mad about something or other and he'd smack me around for it, I never felt like I deserved it." His face was so red. "But when you...that was different."

"No one ever deserves to be hit," Sandy said firmly. "No matter what they do."

"You didn't hit me." Ryan's words were matter-of-fact. "You embarrassed the hell out of me, and...it hurt," and those words sounded like it hurt Ryan to admit them, "but I wasn't scared. Surprised."

Sandy succumbed, and reached out, lifting Ryan's chin. The teen closed his eyes, his lashes dark against his red face.

"Come on, Ryan, look at me," Sandy said quietly.

It took a good five seconds for Ryan to open his eyes. Blue met blue.

"I didn't scare you that day. Okay. That's good. But kid, that night Kirsten walked in on you and Lindsay, and I came to talk to you, I know you were scared. I've never seen you look like that before. It was like you were five years old suddenly."

Ryan looked like a deer in the headlights.

"Talk to me, kid."

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Ryan felt frozen. He'd tried not to think about that night since it had happened, tried not to think about the fear that had hit him like a brick. He didn't know what to say. He didn't want to say anything.

"Ryan," Sandy prodded.

Ryan shook his head, feeling the blood draining from his face.

"Ryan, talk to me. What happened that night?"

Ryan shook his head again. "Nothing," he said. Of course, that didn't silence Sandy.

"I did something that scared you; don't tell me that it's not true," Sandy said.

"Why does it matter?" Ryan asked. "Do you want to do it again?"

Sandy's eyes were reproachful. "You know that's not the case, Ryan. I don't want to scare you, and if I don't know what I did—"

"I have an idea," Ryan said. "How about I stay out of trouble, and then you won't have to," Ryan swallowed, "spank me, and that way no one will be scared of anything." He wasn't trying to sound cheeky, but he knew he did.

"So you _were_ afraid of being spanked," Sandy said.

"No!" Ryan cried, frustrated. "I told you, I don't want to talk about it!" His voice was rising, but he couldn't seem to control it.

"Ryan," Sandy said. He reached out his hand. Ryan jumped up, getting out of the way. He was getting so frustrated.

"I'm not like you guys," he said. "Okay? I don't spill my guts all over the place. Can't you just trust me? I'm fine."

"You weren't fine," Sandy said. "You were terrified."

Ryan began to pace the carpet. "Okay. Fine. I was a little nervous. But I'm fine now. And it doesn't matter."

Sandy reached out and caught his arm, and Ryan stopped in his tracks. What was going on now?

"It matters, kid. Talk to me, please."

Ryan wanted to just jerk away, but he didn't. His brain was whirling. "No," he said.

Sandy's eyebrows rose. "No?" he repeated.

"No," Ryan said again, less confidently. "Please, Sandy." What would Sandy do with that? If Sandy wanted to, he could make Ryan tell him, keep pushing until Ryan was ready to tear his own skin off. Or threaten him; there was a lot he could be threatened with. Would Sandy say he was going to kick him out? Stop paying for the expensive school they'd insisted on? At the very least, he could see Sandy resorting to spanking him again, which wasn't pleasant by any stretch of the imagination. Ryan held his breath.

Sandy looked at him for a long moment. Finally, he gave a deep nod. "Okay, Ryan," he said. "But if you ever need or want to talk, you know I'll listen. Right?"

Ryan nodded, feeling relief spreading through him.

"Thank you," he said softly.

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Sandy looked at the blond kid in front of him. He was pale and sweaty. Sandy hadn't wanted to drop it, but Ryan had looked like he might get sick if he didn't. "So you're okay?" Sandy asked, wanting to make sure.

Ryan nodded. "I'm fine," he said. He rubbed his sweater sleeve across his forehead.

"You're a good kid, Ryan. A little headstrong, maybe," and here Sandy allowed himself a wry smile, "but smart, responsible, well-mannered. Kirsten and I are both really proud of you."

He wouldn't have thought the teen's face could blush again, not after all the blood had drained from it like it had, but it was turning red yet again. For a good reason this time, at least.

Sandy gave in to his instincts then, and stood. "C'mere, kid," he said.

Ryan took a few steps towards him. Sandy wrapped his arms around him again. And this time, Ryan didn't go tense. To Sandy's surprise, the teen actually leaned his head into Sandy's shoulder.

Sandy turned his head and lightly kissed Ryan's hair, like he'd done to Seth ever since he was born. He saw Ryan's ears go red, but to his surprise, the teen didn't pull away.

Sometimes, Sandy mused, his instincts were just fine.


End file.
